


things that go bump in the night

by openmouthwideeye



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openmouthwideeye/pseuds/openmouthwideeye
Summary: She held her breath, listening for the muffled creak of leathers or the short, scuffling footfalls that announced a corpse. No sound broke the predawn stillness.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the JB Online Valentine's Day fic fest. I was shooting for 500 words, but y'all should know by know that I'm verbose. JB cliches abound!
> 
> Not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

Brienne woke with a grunt, wincing at the pressure of Jaime’s boot in her ribs. She nearly groaned his name in protest, but his toe prodded her side, and the sense her dreams had stolen rushed back all at once.

Her dragonglass dirk came to hand as she rolled onto one knee, squinting in the lightless chamber. Whether dead or living had breached their door, a dagger suited close-quarters combat better than a sword. Still, her fingers itched for Oathkeeper, tucked safely beneath her bedroll. Some of those wildlings had been after more than japes.

She held her breath, listening for the muffled creak of leathers or the short, scuffling footfalls that announced a corpse. No sound broke the predawn stillness.

His foot found her hip.

“Jaime,” she hissed, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the empty chamber.

He didn’t bother to lower his voice. “Oh, good. Some of the lads were worried that carrying Valyrian steel had dulled your reflexes.”

_There’s no danger,_  she realized, tension ebbing. Her eyes narrowed, darting toward the dark lump on the bedroll. Why had he woken her?

His teeth flashed, a pale crescent in the dark. Planting a boot high on her thigh, Jaime pushed. She jerked, fingers tightening on the knife as she overbalanced. His other foot swiped her knees out from under her and she went sprawling, tangled up in his legs. Her knuckles scraped the rough stone beneath the rushes. Blood welled in the gouges as she pushed herself upright.

She scowled, dropping her dagger in disgust. “Are you pleased?” she asked. “If there wasn’t a wight before, there’s like to be one now.”

The light of his smile waned as she flexed her fingers, assessing the damage, but he recovered it quickly enough when she wrapped them around his ankle, tossing his boot from her thigh.

“Surrendering already, wench?” His eyes were green wildfire oozing toward an open flame, unable to retreat whether salvation or destruction awaited him. “You put up a fight for those wildlings.”

Half a dozen men had stolen into her tent during the endless retreat to Riverrun. They’d earned bruises for their troubles, and more than one had left bleeding, but they had fared better than the wildling Jaime had discovered creeping into her bedchamber a sennight past. That man had not yet left the maester’s chambers, nor had Jaime left hers.

“Oh?” she snapped. “Have you decided to join their sport?” She did not care to know what men exchanged instead of gold now that the dead had risen and games had become their own reward. But some small, foolish part of her dreamed of Jaime stealing into her bed, even as she feared the strange heat in his eyes would prove as false as the knights of summer.

“Not much sport in failing.” His eyes flared. “I don’t intend to fail.”

He lunged forward so suddenly that she might have planted her knife in his ribs had she not already dropped it. The weight of him knocked the breath from her. Gasping, she bucked on instinct, sending him tumbling to the rushes. He caught an arm about her waist and pulled. He wasn’t expecting her to surrender, flattening him with their momentum. She might have had him then, but his stump remained stubbornly locked around her waist, yanking her forward as she fumbled for his other arm, struggling to keep him pinned beneath her hips. Slowly, deliberately, he rolled his, grinning when she faltered. Heat blossomed between her legs and colored her cheeks. She clamped her knees around his ribs, refusing to budge.

But somehow he unseated her. Soon they were locked together, making a mess of bedrolls and rushes as they wrestled their way across the floor. Jaime’s shoulder slammed into the door. Grimacing, he stretched out his arm, fingers climbing the smooth wood to strain for the bolt.

It was no good. Tangled as they were, he could never hope to reach it.

He yielded abruptly, falling back against the door. Brienne rocked back on her heels, bewildered, tensed to strike. His hair was mussed, tunic torn, and the beginnings of a bruise kissed his cheekbone, but when he smiled, her breath caught. That smile could have summoned summer. 

“Well, you’re too heavy to steal, wench,” Jaime said wryly. “What say we find the septon instead?”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is much loved <3


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